Unlikely Evil
by BowsLB
Summary: Round 12: Dean gets drilled. Sam to the rescue! What's the only thing that scares Dean more than planes or losing his brother? And why are the Winchester brothers giggling? be afraid, be very afriad! warning: completely ridiculous!
1. battle of the cookies

Unlikely Evil

Battle of the cookies

A/n: If this is your first time reading, stick with it, at least until you get to the evil toy store. I want to rewrite these first few chapters to flow better with what this story eventually becomes, but I haven't had the time. Anyway, this is a series where the brothers take on unlikely, but (I would say) obvious evil in the world. The only question this time is… can Dean deny cookies in the name of vanquishing evil? Warning… completely ridiculous and cracktastic. Standard disclaimers apply.

"But… the cookies! Think of the cookies, Sam," Dean whined.

"I know, Dean, but she's evil. She's got to be stopped! How many countless housewives have been drained of life force because of her?"

"But… the cookies!"

Sam scowled. He did not like it anymore than Dean did, but it was inevitable. Where they found evil, evil must be stopped. …even if it made fantastic desserts.

"I will buy you cookies after, okay?"

"Not the same… won't be fresh baked…"

Sam ignored that for his own sanity. "Alright, let's go over the plan. We're going to lure her out with potpourri and that apple pie from the diner you like so much."

"What's the point if I don't get to eat any…" Dean asked sullenly.

Sam rolled his eyes and continued. "Apparently this kind of witch can only be defeated by making them so angry that the combust in upon themselves, so we have to try and make it angry. Under no circumstances should you tell it the cookies are good! In fact, we may be better off if we obliterate anything that might tempt you. Plus, that will help make it mad."

"… or me mad…" Dean said under his breath.

"What did you say?" Sam asked tiredly, realizing he wouldn't get an honest answer.

"I said evil bad… so what else are we supposed to do to make it mad? I mean, I think the sooner we can be done, the better."

"Well, I had to dig up some information because I didn't know much about her… but I think I have an idea…"

~*~

Sam and Dean snuck onto the closed set after dark, carrying guns and flashlights. Although the guns wouldn't kill it, they would ensure at least a bit of bought time if she realized they were onto her.

"Are you sure she'll be here," Dean whispered, skeptically.

"Bobby said something about her needing to prepare a spell to collect the energy before every collection. I'm guessing she doesn't do that before she's had her coffee."

Dean made a "sounds reasonable" face, as Sam picked the lock to the stage set.

"You got the pie?" The lock clicked and they were in, but when Dean didn't answer, Sam looked back to see Dean's acting innocent face. "Dean. Seriously?"

"Well, I'm sorry. You said we might have to destroy cookies," he complained. The way he sounded, on might have thought Sam told him he'd have to destroy the Impala.

"Fine," Sam said through gritted teeth, "we'll just have to make do with the potpourri."

~*~

Half an hour later, the boys emerged from the wreckage of the set which was still burning behind them. They were covered head to toe in something gooey. Dean reached out and got a fingerful from Sam's jacket, and stuck it in his mouth.

"Dude," Sam said, making a face.

"What?"

"That's disgusting."

"Hey, when evil explodes cookie dough, you just have to go with it."

Sam rolled his eyes and tried to wipe off some of the cherry pie filling. "I can't believe we just ganked Martha Stewart…"

"I can't believe how much she flipped out over bad napkin-folding…"

More to come! Review if you would be so kind, and here's my shameless plug for my other (serious) story "Free Will."


	2. the dead cat theory

"…Sure it looks like a dead cat, but evil, Dean?" Sam frowned skeptically. Holed up in a motel after their latest job, looking for something new, when Dean had an unexpected epiphany.

"I know it sounds farfetched, but I was reading up on these, uh," Dean looked at the book again, "Trader Demons, and trust me, this fits the bill exactly. Demon approaches someone desperate to hang onto success. They get their success and in return, the demon gets to stay close and bask in the glory."

"And you think…" Sam trailed off, troubled.

"The bigger the glory, the closer the demon stays," Dean said seriously, as though the idea weren't ludicrous.

"But it's… hideous. Why would anyone make that kind of sacrifice?"

"Evil ain't pretty Sam, and it's kind of the point. Even with the dead cat, did you see his latest conquest?"

Sam skeptical frown deepened, but after a moment of thought, he shrugged. "Okay, you might actually have a point. But how do we get rid of it? How do exorcize something like that."

"Well, it's not going to be easy, but the lore says that these trader demons aren't really demons but the spirits of fallen idols, unable to let go of glory. So exorcism isn't from the right playbook, if you know what I'm saying."

"Sweet baby Jesus… you don't mean…?"

"Pass the salt, Sammy. We got work to do. And I think we better be more careful this time. We don't want to be caught on camera breaking into another figure's house. It almost got ugly when you left that trail of goo back to the hotel."

"That is totally your fault! If you had let us take the car, they never would have been able to track us back to the hotel!"

"Hey… no one, but no one gets cookie dough all over my baby, and you wouldn't clean yourself up."

"Whatever… I was not going to eat exploded witch-goo, even if was comprised of dessert," Sam grimaced.

"It was your loss. That bitch was tasty." Dean flashed his brows with a nod and a grin.

"God, you're disgusting…"

~*~

Several hours later, back at the hotel, Sam and Dean tended to their wounds. Burnt, cut up, and covered in soot, one could surmise that the plan had gone poorly.

"That son-of-a-bitch did not go quietly…" Dean hissed as Sam sutured shut a large gash on his forehead.

"If I had known who we were dealing with, I might have suggested bringing reinforcements."

Dean chuckled.

"What?"

"Well, I guess it's true what they say about the root of all evil being money."

"What do you mean?" Sam was still confused.

"It's all about the Benjamins…" Dean laughed.

"Hold still or I can't finish this."

Dean turned serious. Then, after a moment, "for a former president, he was pretty smart…"

Sam paused in his suturing to smack his forehead… his hand slowly slid down over his eyes. "Dude, there is so much wrong with what you just said, it's not even funny."

"What?" Dean asked, confused.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Nevermind. I wonder what's going to happen now that good ol' Benjamin Franklin is finally out of the picture…"

~*~

A week later, the boys were sitting in a hotel with the tv on in the background set to the news just in case something noteworthy came up.

"I don't know who had the best week ever," the reporter said, "but we might just have a line on who had the worst week ever. After yet unknown persons broke into the house early last week, reportedly removing not only the famously bad comb-over of Donald Trump, but all of his hair, his luck has seemed to plummet. Wednesday, Trump was formally accused of falsifying information to obtain some of his more profitable properties, and we've just received word that his current wife is filing for divorce."

Dean suddenly fell out of his chair laughing.

Sam kind of chuckled. "What?"

In between deep gasps of breath and gafaws, "the comb-over really was the source of his power."

Sam laughed, "Makes you wonder if all of the rich and famous with bad 'dos are evil… " After he thought about it for a second a worried look crossed his face, and he looked at Dean with a panicked look. "You don't think…?"

Dean's grin faded… he stared at the ground for a second thinking of all the celebrities with bad hair.

"Son of a bitch!"


	3. Operation Deanquisition

Operation Deanquisiton

"Alright, I know how this is going to sound, but hear me out," Dean started.

"We are not going to Vegas just because there's nothing else going on. We'll find a case; we always do." Sam didn't even look up from his computer.

"Psssh, that's not what I meant. What I was going to say, was food."

"Food," Sam asked, skeptically, still concentrating on the computer.

"Evil food," Dean said a small hint of pride in his voice.

This finally caught Sam's undivided attention, "Evil food," he said with a bit of bitchface.

"Yes, I think I know exactly where to start."

"Okay, I'll bite," Sam leaned back in his chair, curious to see where this could possibly go.

"Fruitcake. You know how it's kind of like a brick… and it lasts forever? I read somewhere, this guy thinks that really there are only like, 5 or 6 of them in the world and they just keep getting passed around from person to person because no one ever eats them."

Sam sighed. "That doesn't make them evil, Dean; that just makes them inedible."

"I asked you to hear me out, dude," Dean said, mildly annoyed.

Sam sighed again, and waved for him to continue.

"Now see, I was doing some research, about these towns that right after Christmas, the whole town goes downhill. Like, bad and fast. Except… in every one of these cases, one family seems to have a pretty good year, in comparison. And look," Dean pulled out a map marked with inky circles. Sam leaned in, trying to figure out when and how Dean had done all of this research. "these are the houses where death, illness, money troubles, and just plain-out-crazy happened."

"What are the numbers for?"

Dean grinned proudly. "That is the order by date in which the bad stuff happened. Notice how it starts with the neighbors and goes out? And see," he said throwing down a few more maps, all similarly marked. "Same pattern in all these other towns. And guess what? All our central families either know or are distantly related to each other."

"It's definitely something to look into, but… fruitcake?"

"Think about it, one town a year goes to hell just after Christmas, surrounding houses that are loosely connected to the center house of the last town. It is the terrible re-gifting of evil food." Dean grinned smugly.

"And how do you propose we go about the search and destroy?" Sam's tone was resigned. He could tell it wasn't worth the fight.

~*~

"Exterminators? Seriously?" Sam shifted uncomfortably in his uniform outside the front door.

"Relax, it's the only way we get to search the attic and basement for it."

Several minutes later the men of "Bugs-B-Gone" found what was likely the culprit stashed in a box labeled "Christmas Crap."

"Ah, the joys of the holidays…" Dean grinned.

"You have the supplies?"

"Holy water, check. Salt, check. Baking soda, check. And finally, ancient Latin incantation to keep mold at bay, check!"

"I don't know where you found that thing, but if it helps, I'll never doubt your research again."

~*~

"I'm going to have nightmares about that mold for weeks…" Dean's eyes were still wide in horror as they drove away. After the Martha incident, Dean kept plastic seat covers in the trunk's arsenal for just these occasions.

"Next time, I read the Latin! I can't believe you managed to make it bigger and angrier," Sam complained.

"But admit it… who was right about the fruitcake?"

"…It was definitely evil," Sam said reluctantly.

"Of course it was. I look forward to ridding the world of evil food."

"Oh God, there's more evil food?"

"Yup and we're going to hunt it. I call it operation Deanquistion," Dean grinned widely at Sam. At Sam's complete, blinking, "wtf?" confusion, his face fell, "You know… like the Spanish inquisition?"

"And how is this like the Spanish inquisition, exactly?"

"You know… no one ever expects it?"

"Mary Poppins you don't know, but Monty Python?"

"Hey, with fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency, I'mma hunt down evil food. Personally, I think we should think about Fig Newtons… Those suckers aren't cookies. They definitely aren't cake, either. Something sinister going on there. What do you think?"

"I think Ronald McDonald is kind of creeptacular," Sam said with a frown and a shiver.

"You would…"Dean chuckled.

~*~

Thanks for reading, everyone! I can't believe how much traffic this has gotten! =) Quick notes: my brother and I always did joke about 5 or 6 fruitcakes being re-gifted around the world. Sorry if anyone likes it (that also extends to everything else I assert is evil)… It is all meant in jest. Kind of… ;D I have a few more ideas for unlikely evil, but if you have any suggestions, feel free to send 'em my way and I might write it for you. And while there is lots of unlikely evil in the world, remember, it's got to be something the boys can actually conceivably defeat. For instance, they can't hunt down hang-nails or bleach stains on your favorite t-shirt. Now, the dryer monster that steals socks? That's some evil the boys can fight!


	4. when laundry attacks

Disclaimer: I own no rights to any of the people, products, anything else I joke of as being evil. It's all a joke. Don't sue me. Please. Also, please, do not take matters into your own hands, gentle readers. Leave it to the ridiculously good-looking hunters.

When laundry attacks…

"I think I got something," Sam said, looking up from his computer.

"If it's another celebrity with bad hair, forget about it. I don't care how evil it might seem, after the Russell Brand incident, I'm out. We can't use our Clapton and Vai badges anymore, and that, dear brother, is a damn shame."

"You swore up and down there had to be evil involved," Sam pointed out.

"Shuddap. Besides, blame won't bring back Clapton and Vai."

"Which reminds me, I wonder if there's any truth behind Vai and the 'Crossroads' movie. I mean-"

"Don't you dare. Steve Vai is a genius. There is nothing evil about his music and that is FINAL."

Sam laughed, "Okay, okay. We'll leave Vai alone."

"And a few more. I have a list we will never hunt."

"Can they all be found in your CD collection?"

"No," he said as if Sam had accused him of being prejudiced. "There's Megan Fox, too," Dean grinned. "I don't care if 'Jennifer's Body' is autobiographical, I cannot, in good conscience, gank her."

"Anyway… I was reading reports all over the country about some weird cases of 'accidental' strangulation. There haven't been many, but they are all tied together by one thing. I have to warn you, it's going to sound strange."

"Strange is just another day in the office."

"I'm talking strange for us, strange. Listen to this: in every case where they couldn't find any evidence of break-in or foul play of any kind, the victims were wearing a, uh… well," Sam stumbled over the words uncomfortably.

"Spit it out, Sammy."

"Snuggie," Sam said, embarrassedly.

"…what the hell is a Snuggie?" Dean asked, afraid to know the answer.

"You know that infomercial with the blankets with the sleeves?"

"Oh, I'm in. Let's hunt those bitches down."

"Just like that? You don't have any doubts?"

"Dude, I saw mini-Snuggies for dogs at the store the other day. I have no doubts there's something evil going on there…"

"Can't argue with that…"

"So, you think it's the Snuggies themselves? Or someone controlling them, like a zombie-Snuggie army?" Dean made a face as he considered a zombie-like army of Snuggies slowly limping towards him the way only zombies could do. He shook his head in horror.

Sam laughed at his reaction. "Pretty sure it's the latter. Not everyone that owns a Snuggie has kicked it, so I'm thinking it's a retrieval spell."

"What do you mean?"

"It says here, there's a really old spell for retrieving life force by cursing an object in someone's home. My guess is that someone is marketing Snuggies for this purpose. When the Snuggie retrieves the life force, the spell is over and all traces of its animation will disappear. I figure the targets are random so that it doesn't attract attention."

"So how do we get rid of it?"

"Supposedly an amulet of Amura is the source, so if we can find the amulet and destroy it, bye, bye Snuggie assassins."

"What do you say Agents Vaughn and Osbourne pay a visit to some Snuggie reps?"

~*~

"For something that's supposed to be all comforting and nice, those things sure had one hell of a grip," Dean rubbed at his neck.

"At least they weren't trying to molest you. Why is it always me," Sam asked miserably, making his classic puppy face and looked at the backs of his pant legs, which had been torn to pieces, along with various other pieces of his clothing. "I didn't do anything!"

Dean grinned his way, and reached out to pinch his cheek. "Aw, come on, Sammy, you're just lucky that way."

Sam swatted him away. "Don't touch me!"

"You should have said that to the Snuggie," Dean said with a wink.

"I hate you."

A/n: I love Russell Brand! …But his hair does suggest evil. I don't much care for Megan Fox, but every straight guy I know has the hots for her, so… yeah, Dean's list. Snuggie points of interest: according to Wikipedia, Snuggies are supposedly a rip-off of "Slankets." Snuggies are distributed by the Fosdick Corporation. I'd like to think I can be amusing, but seriously? You can't make that sh*t up!

If you've never seen Steve Vai in the movie "Crossroads," I highly suggest you look it up on youtube. Search Steve Vai "Crossroads" guitar duel. The kid does an excellent job of faking the guitar. When you play, it's easy to spot fakers, but if I didn't know, I'd say he was playing it. Also, it's hilarious watching Vai act all upset when the kid wins. Especially since I'm pretty sure he wrote most of the duel. I know he played all of it for the film except the beginning blues part, which was played by the other contributing guitarist/composer.

Finally, "when laundry attacks" was the name of the band I drummed for in H.S. We had the requisite bass player that was always at least 2 hours late, and the "pimp-mobile" van to haul band equipment. I loved the pimp-mobile… even when it stalled out on cold days. "When laundry attacks" was also our title song. It featured "Aunt Gerdy's" old scarf attacking out of the blue. It's nice to know that my writing continues to stay ridiculous. And come to think of it, I just remembered that old lady from "Red Sky at Morning" was named Gertrude, and she totally attacked Sam in a way that made us all a little uncomfortable, and yet… who could blame her? That connection alone cracks me up way too much! Thanks for reading!


	5. little shop of horrors

Little shop of horrors

For Leahelisabeth, I hope you get as much a kick out of this as I did writing it!

"Alright, we'll check it out. Hey, can you email me some of those incantations? Thanks, Bobby."

"What was that all about?"

"Bobby might have a job for us. A body was found, but they weren't really sure what to put down as the cause of death."

"Any particular reason why?"

"Well, the body appeared to be bitten, scratched, bludgeoned, burned, and his ears were leaking blood."

"Okay, so what makes that our territory instead of 'serial-killer-went-overboard' fed territory?"

"All of the wounds were tiny."

"So the serial-killer is a midget wrestler that got tired of the short jokes."

"No, Dean. Like, my-G.I.-Joe-came-to-life-and-stabbed-me, tiny. The body was found in a toy store."

"And you think…? Hm. Think there'll be monkeys?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

~*~

Agents Van Zant and Ramone arrived in town and conducted their initial interviews. Apparently, the man was from a large corporation that was buying the small store to be paved over and used as a storage facility for some of their more mundane assets. Curious to see just how bizarre the situation was, they arrived at the morgue to examine the body. Sure enough, tiny wounds could be seen all over the body. Tiny bite marks and gashes marred his body, deep round impressions marked spots that would have become bruises.

"Dude, look at this," Sam said, pulling the magnifying glass over the man's foot. The little toe looked broken, but the interesting thing was over the superior part of his foot.

"Are those tiny tire tracks," Dean asked in disbelief.

"I think so. I think we better go find out what kind of toys are there before we go in after dark."

~*~

The store was very small, but it had a wide variety of toys crammed in. It had the standard fake snakes in a can, basketballs, model cars, and Barbies. But it also had more modern, popular toys. Dean cringed at the "Twilight" action figures and the Miley Cyrus sing-a-long dolls.

Sam was examining an annoying parrot toy that spouted off whatever noise that was recorded last. In this case, some kid had recorded his, to be honest, impressively-long belch. Dean's breathless "Oh my God," caught his attention in time to catch Dean's swoon. When Sam let go of Dean, sure he wasn't going to fall over, Dean turned his head. He looked five years old. "I am so buying this," he said, holding up a model of his very own '67 Impala. It was even black.

Sam sighed, "Not until we know it's not evil, Dean."

"Who died and made you king?" Dean asked sullenly.

~*~

"Okay, so we have salt and accelerant in case we have to burn the sucker down, we got the shotguns, regular guns with the silver, and finally, we have a spell-halting counter spell in case it's some serious hoodoo that needs to be undone."

"We sound covered. Are you ready for this?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Sam picked the lock as Dean disabled the alarm. The entered, guns raised and with flashlight spotlights as they searched the store for any unusual activity. Five minutes in, when nothing happened, Sam lowered his gun and scratched his head.

"Huh. I was so sure there was something evil going on here."

Dean dropped his gun, too. "Well, the place is set to be a parking lot soon, anyway. Maybe we didn't have to even worry about it."

Sam shrugged, but just then, a basketball flew out of nowhere and smacked Dean on the back of his head.

"SON OF A BITCH!" He leaned over clutching the back of his head, and Sam went to check on him when all hell broke loose.

The surprise can of snakes loosed some dangerous looking snakes, model airplanes swooped overhead as model cars charged from below. The Miley doll started screeching at the top of its not-lungs, causing Sam and Dean to reel in pain, covering their ears. Dean shot it between the eyes to make it stop. Just then, the Edward doll attacked him biting into his arm.

"$*%!" Dean shouted, and Sam came running to assist him when a twister game mat, tripped him and tangled around his ankles. A jump rope twisted around his wrists as a Jacob doll morphed into a wolf and attacked Dean, as well. Mr. Potato-head was throwing various limbs and facial attachments at Sam.

Just when they thought it couldn't get any worse, the Barbie started trying to unbutton Sam's shirt, grinning plasticly up at him, and the mini-Impala tried kept ramming itself into Dean's ankle as a stuffed monkey started throwing stuffing-poo at Dean.

"Sam," Dean shouted, tearing at the toys ripping through his shirt. "Now would be a good time… TO START SAYING THAT UNDO SPELL! UN-HOO IT! UN-HOO IT," he shouted desperately as Power Rangers started making flailing motions in preparation for attack.

Sam tried to recite it as Barbie's friends started trying to help her. He found it hard to concentrate as a toy dinosaur roared and started toward him. Overhead, the annoying parrot was barking out orders. "Poly want his $*%ing store back!"

~*~

"Dude, that settles it once and for all. Barbie is a slut."

"What? Speak up; I still have blood in my ears," Dean said loudly.

"I said: Barbie is a slut, dude," Sam said louder.

By the time Sam and Dean had escaped, the store was burning to the ground. The Barbies of the store had completely removed Sam's jacket, both shirts, and had started in on his pants, fortunately only getting past the buckle of his belt. At the present moment, they were tending to the battle wounds, which were considerable.

"At least your pants are intact. Every last piece of clothing I was wearing is torn. INCLUDING my underwear. I swear that stupid vampire took a bite out of my ass."

Sam laughed. "Looks like I wasn't the only one dealing with dolls looking for some action."

"Shaddup."

"Hey, I'm sorry about the model Impala. I can't believe it followed you out of the building as it burned. I know it must have hurt pretty bad shooting it."

Dean gulped and it looked like he was holding back tears for a brief moment. "We will salt and burn what's left of the 'Sinpala' at dawn. And we will never speak of it again…"

"Agreed, so long as we never, EVER speak of…" Sam struggled to get the word out, "slinkies again," he shuddered.

Dean grimaced. "Gladly."

"And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I take it back. I will NOT go see Toy Story 3 with you."

A/n: Okay, I giggled a lot writing this, and I don't giggle. I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did as I pictured it. If ever an idea were to get Kripke'd and put into the show, I would like to see this come to life! In particularly, Dean swoon-age over the Sinpala and looking 5 years old, because I can totally see it. I was going to try and keep these super short, but I couldn't skip this action. As always, if you have some cracktacular ideas you'd like to see, send 'em my way. Thanks for reading!


	6. the one with all the bitchface

The one with all the bitchface

Sam awoke with a gasp, sweating in tension. Of all the dreams he'd had after a particularly bad hunt, none of them were quite as creepy as the Barbie army of little plastic perverts. He'd been swatting them away in his sleep, twitching a slightly as a little drool seeped out of the corner of his mouth.

"Bad dreams, too, Sammy?"

Sam sat up and shook the sleep out of his head and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, the things you can't unsee…"

"We have a problem." Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed hands folded, and somber.

"What's up?"

"Well, we have a new job. I was up all night from bad dreams, so… I found a new job. But there's something else."

"Okay," Sam said slowly.

"The, um…" Dean pursed his lips for a second then smacked them, putting off saying the word, "…Sinpala is gone."

"What?" Sam asked, shocked. "But you said it was totaled!"

"I thought it was. But I guess if my baby can come back from anything, so can a tiny, evil version," Dean hung his head as if he should have known.

"So you want to go find it?"

"I don't think I can; it completely disappeared. Plus," his eyes brightened for the first time that morning. "The Deanquisition continues!"

~*~

"Explain to me again why we have to sneak into Grady High's Senior Prom?" Sam asked, pulling on the jacket to his tux.

"How many times do I have to tell you? The catering service has got to be evil!" Dean was adjusting his clip-on bowtie. "Remember? I showed you the newspaper clippings on all the people that went nuts while at events catered by this company?"

"No, I remember, but I still can't figure out why we have to crash a prom. Can't we just… scope out the business?"

"No time, Sammy. High schoolers are crazy enough without any extra Hoodoo. We can't just let evil go down if we know about it."

"Maybe, but in what universe do we pass as chaperones? Neither of us looks old enough to have kids in high school."

"Relax, I have an in. Courtney McGowen. Her father's a teacher at the high school, and he's asked her and a friend to chaperone." Dean grinned in anticipation of seeing an old, well, girlfriend wasn't quite the word.

"Have you met this 'friend,'" Sam asked warily. Dean's parade of beautiful women usually had friends that were either equally as beautiful and as shallow as a thimble, or abnormal-looking and crazy. For some reason, there was no crossover, and no in-between.

"No," Dean said, cluelessly. "Why?"

"Nevermind," Sam sighed.

~*~

"Wow. Are you sure it's not the school? Because 'under the sea' has to be the lamest theme ever. Or at least the most cliché," Sam said.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean patted Sam's shoulder. "If it isn't tacky and lame trying to masquerade as classy, it isn't prom."

"So what are we looking for? What kind of crazy are we expecting?"

Dean looked ahead with the avoiding-eye-contact/busted look and scratched the back of his head. "What kind of what?"

"Dean." Mild bitchface.

"Hmm?" Feigned ignorance.

"Tell me you did more research past the catering company's name and crazy being in the same sentence." Mild bitchface with pleading.

"Of course I did!" Guilty grin.

"Dean."Full-on bitchface.

"Okay, okay. I have no idea, really. It actually seemed kind of different every time. But the last ten events Hellmuth catering has done have had at least one casualty!"

"So, you're telling me that we have no idea what kind of evil we're dealing with here. Did you at least warn our dates not to touch the food?"

"Of course I did! And look at how cute these high school couples are!"

Sam scanned the tackily decorated gymnasium as poorly executed covers flowed from the half-stacks. Cute was hardly the word he'd use. Most couples looked as though one were more interested in the other. A lot of singles were all dancing awkwardly as though they were settling for a dance with someone just so they didn't have to dance alone. Another portion of population seemed to be drunk already.

"Right… So when are our, um, 'dates' getting here?"

"Ah, the fair Ms. McGowen and her… Oh! Stunning friend, are on their way over," Dean pointed smugly.

Sam looked up. Dean didn't lie, both girls were beautiful and by the looks of it, the one that wasn't looking at Dean did look just his type: beautiful and smart.

"Oh."

~*~

"Sam."

"Hm?"

"Sam."

"Y'uh huh?"

"SAM!"

Dean finally managed to pull Sam away from his date, whom had turned out to be exactly Sam's type.

"What," he whined as the girls excused themselves for punch.

"Why aren't you watching for the weird stuff? You're supposed to be watching so I can catch up with Courtney!"

"Because, Dean, Allysa is awesome! And not evil. You already know Courtney… and can probably sleep with her tonight whether you pay attention to her or not."

Turns out, Dean's disapproval face is not unlike the bitchface.

"Not the point. Evil remember?"

"So you've seen some evil yet?"

"…no. But that cheerleader looks like she's about to eat her date's face."

"How do you know she's a cheerleader?"

Dean shrugged. "I just know these things."

~*~

"Dean… crazy," Sam nudged Dean and pointed, going for the gun tucked in the back of his pants. "I believe that cheerleader actually is… yup, trying to eat her date's face!"

"Mmm, no… that's just the school slut. Not a cheerleader."

Sam's bitchface hit epic proportions as the screams started.

~*~

"I can't believe the caterers did the punch, too. I should have known."

"How were you to know that the ice cream had a fast-acting zombie virus in it?"

Once again, the Winchester brothers left a burning building, this time covered in blood. Sam was limping and leaning on Dean for support.

"It's lucky there was so much illegal alcohol there, or we'd never have gotten that sucker burning."

"I'm too tired to even be upset about this. And Courtney mentioned costumes. Costumes, DAMMIT!"

"Too tired, huh? And did you really want to see the woman trying to eat your brains in a costume?"

Dean made a face. "Not when she was trying to eat my brains, per se. Hey, I'm sorry about that Allyson chick. She seemed really into you."

"Well, when she was ripping at my tux… trying to get to my brains, she kind of lost her charm. I really wish we'd brought more ammo. Or bigger guns."

"That was a creative use of your tie, by the way."

"Thanks. If you hadn't worn a clip-on tie, you could have beheaded that weird dude from the band."

"Oh, he had the guitar-to-the-skull coming. They absolutely BUTCHERED 'Free Bird'…"

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"We're not going to get the deposit back on the tuxes."

"I know."

"Dean?"

"I lost another shoe…"

A/n: Thanks for reading everyone! I really appreciate all the support! I'd like to note that if you missed the snuggie chapter because I posted chapter 5 so close on the heels of 4, you might want to go back and read. Okay, so I know it's not as good as the evil toy store, but that kind of genius is hard to recapture!

Points of interest: Grady, PA is the fictional town my book takes place in… nothing supernatural would ever happen there… hee. Also, the first time I was living away from campus and away from home, a trailer suddenly appeared in the parking lot of my apartment building. It said "Hellmuth Construction." I'm sure there was no real evil stuff going on there, but being a huge Buffy fan… well, you can imagine my uneasiness. And so, Hellmuth catering was the obvious name choice.

For those of you that are in high school, I know prom is like this big benchmark of the American high school experience. (I don't know about other countries… do you all have something similar?) I'm here to tell you that unless you have a date, or a really awesome group of single friends… it is not awesome. Homecoming? Super fun. Less pressure to bring a date, more groups of people that dance like you should in high school: goofy and with intent to laugh! But prom? Totally evil. ALL prom themes are lame. There's way too much pressure to have the perfect dress (when in reality… almost all of them have stupid sequins which should only be used for girly athletics like ice skating, gymnastics, and also ballroom dancing). And of course, too many pictures that you're going to look back at and say… why did I ever like that loser? Sorry, rant over…

Finally, this sort of was inspired by my favorite horror movie of all time (because it's so ingeniously bad that it's good!), called "The Stuff." Made in 1985, it's about alien ice cream that eats you from the inside and takes over your body… yeah, it's THAT bad. I strongly suggest getting your most easily-entertained friends together and laugh the whole way through at the odd innuendo and ridiculous premise. Except that gross part. That's just gross.


	7. Sam vs the Underoos

Sam vs. the Underoos

"Turn out the light, will ya?" Dean complained, pulling a pillow over his head.

"I can't. I'm not done researching! I think I might be onto something!"

"This is the third night in a row you've stayed up researching. I know you want to help this guy, but give it a rest, already, okay?"

"If it were me, I'd want someone on it until it was fixed, alright?"

"Fine. But use your stupid book light and turn off the lamp."

Sam mockingly mouthed "turn off the lamp," but he did it anyway.

A hunter friend had been in contact with the brothers about a week before. He'd been on the trail of a special kind of monster that was not unlike a trickster. As Eric got closer and closer to catching it, the weirder the roadblocks became. First his friend lost all of his personal effects: keys, cell phone, car… When he finally tracked all of his things down, his entire suitcase was full of Star Wars costumes. In the last encounter relayed to Sam and Dean, the monster had called him 'Monsieur de Villefort' and Eric couldn't figure out why. The next time they heard anything, Eric's wife was calling them telling them he was in the hospital, and all he could do was blink.

Sam could have sworn he understood the reference to the name, but it took him five hours of racking his brains and searching the local library before Dean called and suggested he just google the name. Sam must have banged his head on the library desk for a full minute before the stern librarian asked him to leave.

The reference was from the Count of Monte Cristo. When Sam told Dean, he left abruptly, claiming he needed a sandwich, like right now. Sam's forehead had a small bump from the second go 'round of head-to-table banging. The person the monster had referenced suffered from locked-in syndrome. Sam spent the following night figuring out what that even meant.

"…and it's either an infarct or lesion on the ventral aspect of the basal pontine or possibly bilateral lesions rostral to the level of the abducens nuclei…" Dean's snore was so loud that it simultaneously alerted Sam to the fact that he had fallen asleep, and woke him up.

*SNARK* "Wazzhuh?"

"You fell asleep?"

"Dude, you lost me after 'brain.'"

All the research since had been about finding a monster that could do that. After spending the last two days on the internet and at the library, Sam thought he was finally onto a lead. A hummer usually fed off frustration and caused it when it couldn't find any. Very hyper, it was easily distracted, but the worst of the torments it inflicted far outlasted its attention span. They either ended when the hummer was killed or six months after the trick had been played. Sam was about to read how to kill it when he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

~*~

Sam woke to the sound of Dean calling his name.

"Guh?" He lazily lifted his head from the books he fell asleep on. He hadn't gotten the sleep out of his eyes, but he could have sworn Dean was looking at him oddly and calling his name out of the corner of his mouth.

"SAM!"

"What are you shouting for, Dean?" Sam rubbed his eyes for a second and then froze. Something was wrong with his voice. It was a little high-pitched for just having woken up. Way high-pitched, actually. And something was weird about his hands. And his feet weren't solidly planted on the ground, several feet from the chair. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, they weren't touching the ground at all. "Oh no," his voice still sounded small.

"SAM! You wanna get in here and tell me why there's a kid at your computer?"

"Dean? Don't freak out…"

"SAM! How does the kid know my name?" Dean's voice hitched with a spike of panic.

Sam lowered his hands and stared at Dean's thoroughly freaked-out expression. "Dean…"

Dean stared at him for a second. He squinted his eyes for a moment. "Sam?"

Sam puppied a nod.

Dean stared for another second before busting out in laughter.

"Dean."

More laughter.

"Dean."

Dean doubled over and started gasping for air.

"DEAN!"

Dean continued to laugh, barely getting out "Nice overalls, Buddy!"

Sam's bitchface was actually really cute on his six-year-old face.

Dean was consumed with laughing fits which continued when Sam tried to explain what was happening, and again when he struggled to get out of the chair, his butt sliding of the edge of the chair and holding onto the table. Five minutes later, Sam was finally able to relay what probably happened.

"So this hummer thing probably isn't done with the pranks?"

"Probably not. We know what it is, and know where it's been. So, if we get close again… we should probably expect something else to go… weird."

"As weird as you being 3 feet shorter than me?"

"I hate you."

"That's cute, shortstack."

~*~

"Dean, I think I might have found something."

"In that book that's twice as big as you are, Sammy?"

Sam ignored him. "The hummer kind of operates like a hummingbird, hence the name. It's easily excitable and can be defeated by too much excitement."

"So you're saying I should buy the girl a drink?"

Sam struggled to give a disapproving look over top of the book.

~*~

"Sam? Why are you playing that annoying music?"

"Hmm? I'm not playing any music."

"Then where is that God-awful noise coming?"

"I don't hear anything."

"Is that? …Oh my God," the horror filtered into his voice.

"What?"

"WHY BRITNEY SPEARS, WHY?!" Dean shouted to no one. Sammy snickered.

~*~

"So what's playing in Deanland, now?"

"Still 'Man, I feel like a woman.' I'd say if I heard that song one more time, I'd kill myself, but that would guarantee its spot on the set list," Dean sounded too tired to be annoyed.

Sam would have laughed, but the jokes were getting old. As they tracked the hummer down and formulated a plan, the weird had gotten worse. Still six, Sammy had gotten chicken pox, really, really couldn't resist a game of hide-and-go-seek, and had scrapes on his hands and knees from consistently falling down.

For his part, Dean's internal radio couldn't be drowned out by any amount of classic rock, he suddenly couldn't taste any of the food he ate, and worst of all… he tried to hit on a woman at the restaurant… and even with that added cuteness of having kid-Sammy around, he completely struck out, his charm imploding in on itself as if he'd never spoken to a woman before in his life.

"Are you ready gank this bitch?"

"Language, Sammy."

"Shut up. Are we clear on the plan?" Sam scratched enthusiastically through his overalls.

"Yes, I can't wait to deliver the killing blow…"

"Why do you get to do it?" Sam whined, but upon hearing his own voice he tried to lower it. "Why you?" …unsuccessfully.

"Because I'm more pissed off."

"Do you SEE the chicken pox, Dean?! Do you know I am wearing Superman UNDEROOS?!"

"Fine. I get to do it because I'm taller. Again."

"When I'm tall again… I'm going to kick your ass."

"Keep dreaming, shrimp."

"At least I'm not feeling like a woman…"

Dean pursed his lips. "As long as I get to gank this bitch, I'm going to forget that my kid brother is a douchebag."

Sam would have grinned, but there was a pressing need to itch the back of his underoos.

~*~

Dean cranked AC/DC's "Shoot to Thrill," grinning broadly with bacon double cheeseburger bits threatening to fall out of his mouth as the travelled back to the hotel. Sam stretched as far as he could in the car, taking up as much space as possible in the small car.

"Sammy, that caffeine idea was brilliant. I don't feel the need to kick your somewhat-taller ass, anymore."

Sam shot him a grin. "Somewhat-taller?"

"The point is… watching her head explode was the sweetest thing I've seen in a long time."

"Yes. And it's really nice to hear Eric's not communicating through blinking anymore."

"Not as nice as it is to have my music back, but glad to hear Blinky is okay."

"Wow, you are such a saint. Thank God she didn't touch your car."

"Don't even joke about that, Sammy."

~*~

"Okay, okay, open yours first."

It was almost Christmas and since Sam had found the perfect gift for Dean, he'd suggested they actually exchange gifts this year.

Dean shook it suspiciously. It was a shoebox sized-box wrapped in newspaper. It didn't rattle much, but Dean shook harder anyway. Sam grinned as he tore into it and opened the lid.

"Holy CRAP," Dean dropped it, and pulled his gun.

"Relax, Dean, it's not the Sinpala. It's a non-evil model I found at a non-evil store."

Dean put his gun on the table.

" Huh. You need to warn a person before you pull a stunt like that." He adjusted his jacket and picked up the model car and examined it. "Okay, now I feel kind of bad about the gift I got you."

"It's cool, Dean, I didn't get the minpala for you because I wanted a cool gift."

"Minpala… I like it." Dean handed Sam the gift, and tried to squash his grin as Sam opened his newspaper-wrapped treasure.

Sam stared for a second a half-grin on his lips. "Superman underoos?"

Dean grinned and winked, "Well, they were all out of Sam Winchester underoos, so I had to get the next best thing."

Sam rolled his eyes and laughed as Dean made vroom noises with the minpala. "Merry Christmas, Dean."

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

A/n: I don't have anything against Britney Spears, but a friend of mine insisted she was evil and I really wouldn't want to be forced to listen to her, so… unlikely evil. "Man, I feel like a woman" was the song we used for a prank in cross-country. The team pranker was locked in the girl's bathroom for the whole practice with that song on repeat just outside the door. I can only imagine the torture…. Especially for Dean.

On a more serious note, Locked-in syndrome is totally real, and all the neuro-anatomy is real. Trust me when I say neuro-anatomy is the densest reading possible… Dean never stood a chance! Thanks for reading!


	8. The Win in Winchester

The Win in Winchester

"I'm bored," Dean pronounced.

Sam, who was halfway through crossing the hotel room, froze. "Shit," he breathed. Those two words never added up to anything good. By the time those words passed his lips, Dean was ready to get creative in solving the problem. The last time Dean had been bored, Sam had ended up in a pirate costume going door to door asking people about their "booty." It was the longest and most embarrassing goose-chase of a hunt. In the end, the "angry spirit" they suspected happened to be a five-year-old with too much time on his hands, and too much of Dean-like imagination.

Outside, two feet of snow and counting lay everywhere, stalling any hunts the brothers might have embarked on. Sam shouldn't have been surprised that Dean was already bored, but the thought certainly scared him.

"Sorry, Dean, we can't really go anywhere further than we can hike in the snow. And personally, I'd rather be bored than cold and wet."

"I hate snow. I hate it and all the stupid salt they put down to rust up my baby."

"Yup, 'they' are always out to get you and the Impala."

"They are. And I'm still bored."

Sam cringed. He wasn't going to get out of this one easy. "Want to play cards?"

"No, not enough challenge."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Play with the minpala?"

"What am I, two?"

"Look for the next stop on the Deanquisition, then."

Dean grinned. "Well, I have been working on that… hey maybe I'll play pranks on the mooks at the front desk."

"Don't you dare. I am not going to freeze to death because you got us kicked out."

"Fine. Party poop. Hey, I think I saw a pile of cardboard boxes out by the ice machine… Do you still have markers in your bag?"

Sam was worried.

~*~

"Dean."

"…"

"Dean."

"Mm… hummm?"

"What the heck is that?"

"You'll see when I'm done, Sammy."

Sam was very worried.

~*~

Trying very hard to avoid whatever it was that Dean was cooking up, Sam did some research on new jobs, started reading a book, and made some lunch. Dean was still busy, sometimes mumbling to himself and other times just chuckling evilly. As Dean was still hard at work, Sam decided on some exercises and a long, hot shower to work out the knots in his muscles. When he emerged from the steamy bathroom his jaw dropped.

Dean looked up from his project, grinning. "I'm almost done. I just need to finish the dice. Come over and sit down."

Sam cautiously crossed to his bed and stowed his dirty laundry, praying that Dean didn't intend to include him.

"Aren't you going to ask what all this is?"

"Nope."

"Why not?" Dean seemed a little disappointed.

"Because I'm hoping you aren't going to involve me in any way…"

"Sam, the sooner you accept that you're going to play The Dean Game, the better. You might even have some fun."

Sam sighed. Judging by the forecast, there was no way to avoid this before the snow could be managed.

"Fine. How do you play?"

If Sam had been worried before, the smile on Dean's lips was downright terrifying.

~*~

"You realize this game makes no sense at all, right?"

"What's not to get? You move across the board with various challenges, trivia, and mini-competitions and whoever successfully gets there first, puts the 'Win' in Winchester."

"But every space on this board has a competition and at least one fall back or weird contingency to stay put!"

"Huh?"

Sam sighed… it was going to be a long game, he could already see that.

"Nevermind. I guess I'll learn as we go. One thing, though. What's all the beer for?"

~*~

Sam moved his shoe across the game board. Dean insisted on using the minpala as his game piece and Sam sort of wished he had something better than a shoe for his. It was like monopoly all over again. Dean got the race car and he got the lame shoe.

"Okay, you landed on the purple volcano. That means you have to finger-joust with me to keep your board position."

"What the HELL is finger-jousting," Sam demanded. Two turns into the game and he was regretting ever hunting somewhere that was cold enough to snow.

"You take your hand and point with your thumb sticking up like you're miming a gun," Dean demonstrated the gun hand position. "And we both clasp hands like this. The first one to poke any part of the other person's body wins."

"Dammit. Where did you learn that game?"

"Shut up and joust."

They cleared the middle of the board of the handmade dice, and assumed the position.

"GO!"

They struggled in epic battle to poke first and moderate amounts of flail ensued.

~*~

"HA! You got a dare challenge, Sam. I dare you to go outside and stick as much snow down your pants as you can for a minute!"

"Um, no," Sam said with plenty of bitchface.

"Okay, then drink." Dean handed him a can of beer.

"What?"

"You refused a challenge. You have to chug the whole thing if you don't do the dare."

"Why?"

"Thems the rules, brother. I would do the dare, if I were you. This isn't a good game to play drunk. Unless you WANT to be the Failchester," Dean smiled slyly.

"DAMMIT."

~*~

Ten minutes, a lot of cussing and a fresh set of underwear and pants later, Sam was hopping on one foot trying to remember the rest of the alphabet backwards.

"Tsk, tsk, Sammy. That wasn't very fast at all."

"Excuse me, Dean. Like every other kid in the United States, I learned it the forwards way."

"Well, being good at the forward version won't help you if the cops think you're drunk."

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "Yup, that's what I'm always worried about."

~*~  
"Do it or drink, Dean."

"Fine," Dean snatched to bottle from Sam. "But that's low. You know the only time my bare ass will ever be on the Impala is if there is a very attractive young lady involved." Dean chugged with malice in his eyes.

"Very lady-like, I'm sure," Sam snickered.

~*~

"You're going down, baby bro."

"Bring it!"

Back in the center of the board, they were each in the crab-walk position: on hands and feet, butt suspended off the floor in between.

"GO!"

They each advanced, trying to kick, knock, or otherwise cripple the other so that their butt hit the ground. Ten minutes later, both breathing heavily, they broke for dinner in desperate need of sustenance.

~*~

Sam tried to breathe as shallowly as possible. Somehow, he'd managed to pull himself neatly up onto the shelf at the top of the closet. Defying more than one law of physics, he'd fit his massive man-frame all the way in.

"Saaaaammmmy," Dean sing-songed as he groped his way through the darkness of the room. This challenge was called "Mummy in the Crypt" and Dean was running out of time to find Sam. "Dammit, Sam, where the hell are you?"

Sam struggled not to laugh evilly.

~*~

"Alright… for the win. Come on, anything over three…" Sam threw the over sized dice. Snake eyes. "Blast…"

"YES!" Dean shouted.

"Oh, God, what is it?"

Dean looked up with glee. "The laugh challenge. You gotta go five whole minutes without laughing. I can do anything but tickle you!"

Sam did a quick search of his brain of all the sad and/or disgusting things he could think of to deter laughter. Check. "Bring it on, Dean."

~*~

"Heee… you folded like a cheap tent in wind storm!"

Sam wiped tears from his eyes. He hadn't laughed that hard in a long time. After three and a half minutes of torturous self-control, Dean had gone nuclear. "I had to laugh, otherwise it would just be disturbing! The 'Honey, if you love me' route was low, Dean." (see author's notes at the end if you don't know of the game)

"Well, it got you to laugh. And now you owe me all your stripper points. And you have to take three spaces back to the wonky sheep space."

Sam moved his shoe back three spaces. "You can have them as long as you promise you NEVER twirl my hair like that again, Dude. Or yours, for that matter."

"Done."

~*~

"Game point, Sammy, what are you going to do?"

Sam thought long and hard. After five hours of game play, two or three fairly serious injuries that had stopped the game for a few minutes each, and more beers than probably should have been allowed, it all came down to this?

A drip of sweat slid down the side of his forehead, and Dean smirked.

"You don't have it, do you?"

"I'm thinking! Shhh!" Sam squelched his eyes shut, and nodded along to the tune in his head again.

"Five seconds…" Dean glanced at his watch with a self-satisfied smirk. "Four… Three… Two…"

"Fraggle Rock?" Sam shouted.

Deans smile slid off his face faster than jello on a wall.

"What?"

"It's the theme from Fraggle Rock! Isn't it? Isn't it!"

"Son of a bitch! How did you know that?!"

Tired and sore, Sam still had the energy to laugh and point enthusiastically at Dean. "I knew it because I put the Win in Winchester, bitch!"

Dean frowned. "You're the bitch, bitch…"

~*~

Twenty minutes later, they'd finally cleaned the beds off enough to get some sleep. Sam had just turned out the light.

"This isn't over, you know…" Dean said matter-of-factly.

Sam sighed. "Come on, Dean. That was one long-ass game."

"If we're still snowed in tomorrow... I want a re-match."

Sam groaned and pulled his mutilated pillow (which was used as ammo during the bed bounce challenge) over his head.

A/n: Thanks for reading!

Honey, if you love me is an awesome game in which the person who is "it" tries to make someone else in the group laugh by saying "Honey, if you love me, would you please, please smile." If the person can make it through saying "Honey, I love you, but I just can't smile," without smiling or laughing, the "it" person has to move on until the make someone crack. It is a really, really fun game. You can't tickle anybody… but needless to say, other ground rules sometimes should be laid out before hand. Anyway, I remember playing this with some friends a LONG time ago, and nothing got the crack-ups quite like girly, too-southern accents with hair twirling… especially if it came from a dude! It's a good thing some of my ridiculous ideas will only stay on paper…

I started a completely different next chapter, but it wasn't ridiculous enough… Then, my city got hit with a lot of snow. I still had to go to work, but this plot bunny went for the throat, so… yeah. When I get bored… I get creative. This sort of thing is the result. Also, I am thinking about reworking some of the earlier chapter so that the flow of the story is more consistent with the later chapters. Any thoughts?


	9. Under the weather, over the furniture

Under the weather, over the furniture

A/n: I know it interrupts the flow, but I'm going to have a translation of Dean's sick-talk for those that might have trouble figuring out what he's saying.

"ah… AH… AHH-" Snork, sniff. "Blaaah."

"You okay, Dean?" Sam looked over at Dean, who was wiping his nose on his shirt. The snow hadn't exactly gone anywhere, but the roads had finally been plowed enough to get the hell out of town. The only problem? Dean was more congested than traffic in L.A., and he was further in denial about being sick than Alice was down the rabbit hole.

"I'm fin-duh," he frowned, knowing what Sam was getting at.

"'Fine' doesn't have a 'd' in it."

"Shuddap. I'b nod thick!" Snork, hack. [I'm not sick!]

Sam tried to contain his smile. Dean never really got sick, but when he did, it was always the same: vehement denial right up until he couldn't function and he was suddenly a little kid again. Sam wondered how far down the road they'd get before the regressed-Dean made an appearance.

"Whatever you say, Dean…"

~*~

Dean put up a tremendous fight, lasting until about twenty minutes outside of their next lead on a job. A mighty sneeze nearly landed them into a ditch, which would have happened if Sam hadn't lunged for the wheel. It was then that Dean decided the jig was up.

"Samb," Dean started, with the most pathetic look Sam had ever seen, "I tink you mighd had do dribe." [Sam, I think you might have to drive.] Hack, sniff.

Sam's amusement melted a bit. "Alright, switch spots with me. I'll come around and help you."

Sam got out and walked around the car as Dean finally admitted to himself that he was sick. After all, he must be sick to let Sam drive his baby. He had to be really sick to let Sam help him by literally holding him up to get around the Impala. When he thought how sweet it was of his brother to take care of him, he realized he must be delirious with fever.

~*~

"Okay, Dean, I have the keys. Don't worry, we'll get you into bed in a jiffy. I stopped over at the store across the street and bought some Looney Toons DVDs since the tapes you've been hiding in your bag-"

Dean made a weak attempt at protesting, but Sam kept talking.

"-which you shouldn't even try to deny because I've seen them and how horrendously warped they are- won't play here. There are no VHS players at this motel."

Dean frowned, weighing his options. "Cand I hab sub soup, boo?" [Can I have some soup, too?]

The corners of Sam's lips turned down, trying not to laugh.

"Sure. Now, take this," Sam handed him some medicine in a small, plastic cup, "and go take a hot shower. It will help with your ache-ies and clear your sinuses. I'll get the 'toons going and fluff your pillows."

Dean looked him funny. "Whend did boo ged so good ad dakink care ob beoble?" [When did you get so good at taking care of people?]

Sam smiled, only too happy to answer, and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Ah, well, I learned from the best, remember?"

Dean avoided Sam's eyes, not wanting him to see the squishy surge of emotion it caused.

~*~

The hotel Sam chose was a little flashier than they normally chose. They normally stayed in dives, but since they weren't hiding out and Dean wasn't feeling well, Sam chose a nicer one. When they walked in, the furniture looked swanky and modern. The bed had a huge down comforter which had every look of being something to sink into. Dean hobbled to the shower and Sam set about putting the room together for some well-needed rest.

Sam had barely tucked the sleepy Dean in when Dean sat up, uncomfortably. "Hey, lay back down!"

"Samb… sobtink's wrong." [Sam, something's wrong.]

"What's wrong?"

"Dis bed ib really ubcombturble." Sniff.[This bed is really uncomfortable.]

"I'm sorry, I can get you some more pillows if you want."

"Nod ubcombturble libe dab. Ubcombturble libe… juss sib downb." [Not uncomfortable like that. Uncomfortable like… just sit down.]

Sam sat on the bed and immediately hopped off and pulled Dean out. "WHOA. That was like… the bed was trying to suck out my soul!"

"I doe… Dambid! I wanded to sleeb," Dean said sourly. [I know… Dammit! I wanted to sleep.] Snork! Sniff!

Sam thought for a minute. "Okay, new plan. New hotel, and I figure out how to exorcise that mother."

"Nod by youthelf, boo don'd," Dean gave him his best stern look despite the snot threatening to drain from his nose. [Not by yourself, you don't.]

Sam frowned. There was nothing worse than a sick, stubborn Dean.

~*~

An hour later, they were checked into their usual type of temporary home. It was a bit too dark and dingy, but it was a little slice of heaven in comparison. It was only a block from the other hotel, but as Sam handed Dean a cup of hot tea, which he begrudgingly accepted, Dean once again felt like he was being taken care of. He slurped his tea with giant eyes, trying not to look like the little kid he felt like.

Dean felt his eyes droop as Sam got busy setting up again. Suddenly, he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, as if dumbbells were sitting right on top of his lids. He slumped over, glad he was in his pj pants already. Even being as badass as he was, he couldn't bring himself to change between hotels.

When Dean awoke, hours later, he wiped at the drool that had pooled by his cheek. At least, he tried to. His right hand was cuffed to the bed with the fuzzy handcuffs he kept under the driver's seat of the Impala… just in case. Apparently, they weren't as much a secret as he thought they were.

Groaning, he pushed himself up from the pillow and picked up the note beside it.

"Dean,

Went to go take care of that mattress. Stay put and rest. Tea, toast by the bed. Looney Toons on the TV. DVD remote on the stand, too, if you need to restart it. No paperclips in sight, so don't even think about it. Get some rest and I'll be back soon."

"Sond ob a Bidch…" Dean mumbled. [Son of a bitch…]

~*~

A block away, Sam was in the battle of his life with the swank furniture of the hotel room. He had locked himself in the bathroom, but the heavy thumps on the door were the dead-giveaway that he was going to have to figure out something, and fast. He was sure that he could recite some counter-hoodoo, but he wasn't sure how to keep them in sight and keep them at bay at the same time: it was a rather long spell and when he had tried before, he'd almost been knocked out by the wardrobe.

He glanced around the bathroom looking for inspiration. He saw some smelly perfume spray on the counter and regretted that he didn't have his zippo on him. It would have made a perfect flame thrower. His gun didn't really worry the furniture the way he'd hoped, but a flame thrower just might have done the trick.

He was about to lose hope when he heard the door bust open and a weak voice call for him. Gun shots rang out as they so often do, and when Sam opened the door, feathers were floating everywhere. He grabbed the perfume spray and tossed it to Dean. Even sick, Dean already knew what Sam needed and reached for his pocket. Sam was never so happy that Dean and he worked so well together.

~*~

Sam helped Dean back into bed.

"Thanks for saving my butt back there," Sam said, trying to hold back his annoyance that Dean had to help him out, which sparked as soon as he saw how weak Dean was from being ill.

"No danks do boo," Dean closed his eyes and sank into the not-so-posh pillow. "And dats whad big brodders are ford." [No thanks to you. And that's what big brothers are for.]

Sam tucked Dean in, again. "Yeah well, you rest and let me be the big brother for once. Do you want anything else? We got tea, toast, crackers, Looney Toons, and… when you're up to it, Busty Asian Beauties."

Dean's lower lip quavered a bit. "Tanks, Samby, you'red da besd!" [Thanks, Sammy, you're the best!]

"Don't mention it." Sam grinned, wishing he had this moment on tape. He wouldn't forget it any time soon, that was for sure. He handed Dean the Minpala (which went immediately under his arm like a teddy bear), and turned out the lamp. He may have almost been smooshed by pretentious furniture, but he got to take care of the big brother that was always taking care of him, and that made it a good day.

"Samby?"

"Yeah?"

"Don'd eber bake me to anoder hotel libe dat… I HADE fandy furnibure." [Don't ever take me to another hotel like that… I HATE fancy furniture.]

"Yeah. Trust me, I'm over the fancy, too."

A/n: Thanks for reading, everyone! I know, I know. It was much less amusing, but I couldn't help a bit of squishiness for Dean being sick. I hope you all still enjoyed, anyway. No fear, though. Hilarity will be sure to follow with the next unlikely evil thing!

Thanks for all the reviews! If I didn't respond in a message I'mma respond here: Leahelisabeth: I shall have to think of a spin to put on the vengeful breakfast cereal, there may be something there, or the time travel route: there are certainly some evil of the 70's I'd like to address. I mean, polyester suits… itchy much? Amberdreams: I am glad you can enjoy some snow, too! Also, I do believe Dean twirled Sam's hair to crack him up and Sam said, for good measure, that Dean should never twirl his hair, either (moot point, though, as you pointed out!). And yes, I admit I am wicked for torturing them. But I suppose I am no worse than some of the Cannon: Herpexia commercial? Dean in Lederhosen? I rest my case. 88ivories: you understand, then, why that game is so infectiously funny! So glad someone knows what I was talking about.

I also forgot to mention part of the inspiration for the Dean game was Marshgammon. The fictional game Marshall, from How I met your mother, invented. Very funny episode, and interesting concept for a game. Anyway, I figured the best cure for boredom is throwing together the most ridiculous activities one can imagine, all in one place! And aren't you all glad you haven't been snowed in with me! And it would only get worse with more than one person. I was a camp counselor, and crack games were my specialty! ;)

Stay tuned… I have something special planned for xmas!


	10. The Winchester Winter Workout

The Winchester Winter Workout

Dean turned to the sound of a "shiff" coming from the door. "What's that?"

Sam picked up the envelope that had been pushed under the door. "It's a letter for us." He opened it and started to read it.

"What's it say?"

Sam started reading the letter aloud. The farther he got in the letter, the more amused he sounded.

"Dear Dean and Sam,

We don't wish to alarm you, but we feel the need to warn you: due to the large number of people reading about you this year, requests for Dean and Sam Winchesters have been increasing. Since so many good little girls (and a few boys) have wished for you, we feel you should be aware that Santa will be attempting to secure both of you for this holiday season.

Unless you wish to become a gift, we, the elves, strongly advise you to listen for reindeer hooves, watch for flashes of red suits, and remember that the cookie-smell may mean impending doom. He may also be preceded by the smell of hot apple-cider, as it is his drink of choice on his sleigh. He may not be fast, but he does know when you're sleeping and he's a sneaky old guy.

If you wish to avoid Mr. Clause this year, we suggest keeping a stash of cookies to distract him and perhaps hanging around other celebrities Mr. Clause is likely to try and procure. We suggest finding those "Twilight" guys. They are at the top of many lists this year. The guys of "Glee" are pretty popular as well.

Good luck,

Santa's elves, The North Pole"

Dean laughed. You think Chuck's behind a prank? I didn't think that guy at it in him!"

"I dunno, but that's probably the weirdest letter I've ever read."

Sam set the letter in front of Dean to look at and sat back down at his computer.

~*~

"You hear that," Dean asked quietly, his brow furrowed slightly.

Sam looked up at the ceiling, towards the source of the sounds. "I hear something."

Dean munched on another cookie. Though he wasn't worried, the sound of keeping cookies around didn't seem like a bad idea. Who doesn't want to keep cookies around?

"That doesn't sound like hooves, does it?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other and burst out laughing.

The clopping sounds continued and when there was a large thump on the roof right above them, they looked at each other a little nervously.

"You know, Dean," Sam said in a hurry, "I think I found a job in the next state over. We probably need to go check that out!"

"Right, let's grab our stuff! You can tell me about it on the way."

As the brothers sprinted to the Impala, the smell of cider filled the air, and as Dean looked over his shoulder, he saw a flash of red. With a loud curse, he chucked a cookie behind him.

~*~

"Okay, I am officially creeped out," Sam said, still looking out the back window.

"Dude, this is insanity! Santa Clause is after us? What the hell?"

"Does every legend in the world have some truth to it? Because I'm starting to think that even the good ones have some really crappy downsides."

"I don't know, but if that's really Santa, I'm pretty pissed I never got anything I asked for from him!"

"Dean, you weren't exactly on the good list."

"Well, did you ever get anything you wanted for Christmas?" Dean asked, annoyed a bit at the truth.

"Usually."

Dean did a double take. "Wait, what? I thought you never really got what you wanted for Christmas when we were a kid. You always complained that Dad never got you what you asked for."

Sam smiled a little sadly. "I never asked Dad and Santa for the same thing. When I wrote Santa as a kid, I usually asked him to have a safe year as a family. Once or twice that you'd teach me something cool."

Dean didn't know what to say for a moment. "And?"

"That time you taught me how to throw knives? Right after Christmas. When you showed me that thing that always impressed girls? I think I was seven when you showed me. Still works, though. That's how I got Jess to go out with me."

Dean smiled proudly. "Well, what are big brothers for, if not to show their kid brothers how to impress chicks?"

~*~

Deciding they had probably better lay low until Christmas, Sam and Dean holed up in a motel with bags of cookies and their bags packed by the door, just in case they had to make a break for it.

"Dude, this sucks…"

"No kidding. I did not want to spend the last days before Christmas running away from some fudging fictional character!"

Sam frowned. "You think he actually knows when we're sleeping? Cause that's pretty creepy."

"Thanks, Sammy. Now I'm going to sleep well…"

~*~

It was two days before Christmas and the Winchesters were looking pretty ragged. Every time they found a new place to sleep, they'd had to run almost immediately. They were tired and sore from all the sprinting to the car. They'd long since stopped eating the cookies they'd bought and they were starting to look gaunt from lack of sleep and not enough eating for all the running they'd done.

"That jolly old bastard is faster than he looks," Dean complained.

"No lie. I don't think I'll ever have apple cider again," Sam rubbed his eyes yawning.

"I think the worst part is that I can't eat the cookies," Dean looked five years old his eyes big and watery from the unfairness of it all!

"I think it's time we start tracking down those Twilight or Glee guys. Maybe the elves were right…"

~*~

Somewhere in L.A., Sam and Dean were desperately searching for someone else that would be on Santa's list to hide with, hoping Santa would take them instead, when they spotted the actor that played a certain bleach-blonde, high cheek-boned, leather duster-wearing, British vampire. Surely, he might know how to avoid Santa.

As they approached him, carefully checking over their shoulders for a long white beard, they caught his attention.

Chuckling a bit, he addressed them. "New to fame, boys?"

"Yeah, how'd you guess?" Dean said, straightening up a bit, and suspicious.

"You have that chased down, running from something a little-more-than-crazy look about you. Two days before Christmas and in this town? That can only mean one thing."

Sam's eyebrows hit his forehead in puppy surprise and careful hope.

The talented Mr. Marsters crossed his arms and smiled. "This must be your first year being on multiple wish lists of good little girls all over the world."

"I'm guessing you know what's going on then?"

"Yup, around this time of year, the newly famous always turn up with that desperate, crazed look in their eyes. Listen, you want to avoid that ho, ho, ho-ing kidnapper, you've got to cancel yourself out every year, unless you need the extra workout for all the holiday cookies. Some people go that route so they can eat all the holiday food they want. It's a little risky for my taste."

"Cancel yourself out?" Sam didn't quite follow.

"Yeah, the only way to keep that crazy at bay is to ask for somebody else in your letter. Santa isn't huge on chasing people down, so if you write him a letter asking for somebody else, he stops chasing you. It cancels out, you see?"

Dean looked at him crazy, but then shrugged. "I guess it couldn't hurt. Thanks, man."

Sam thought he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eyes. "Thanks, but we gotta run. You never saw us!"

"Right, never saw you. Good luck," James called after them, dodging the ginger snap Sam tossed over his shoulder.

~*~

"There. Sent. Who'd you ask for?" Sam asked as he closed out his email account. They'd already sent snail-mail letters, but they figured Santa would get the message sooner by email.

"Megan Fox, of course." Dean asked, dipping his cookie in some milk.

"Figures. I really hope this works. I'd rather be hunting instead of running from some not-so-mythical person."

"I'd rather eat the cookies. I really, really hated throwing cookies. I feel a little evil, myself, doing that."

"What I don't get is why the elves didn't just tell us about the cancelling out thing. I mean, they must know about it if they knew Santa was going to be after us," Sam stared off down the road as they drove away from California.

"You know what? I bet they think he needs the exercise. All those cookies? I bet his cholesterol's through the roof."

"In that case, maybe I'll burn all your letters next year. Keep your cardio in check at least once a year."

Dean frowned looking at the cookie that had almost made it into his open mouth and dropped it. He brushed the crumbs off his hands.

"You know, I really hate you sometimes."

"I love you too, bro."

A/n: Thanks for reading! Happy holidays, everyone! This one was inspired by that brief, blurry screenshot of Jensen in front of a wreath in the season 3 gag reel where he's grinning like a little kid. I made one of those de-motivational posters that said: Happy Holidays, A rare glimpse of the elusive Jensen. His speed is the only thing that saves him from fangirls. And then I thought: what if he's always running from Santa. And the rest is sort of self-explanatory. Yeah, this is the way my mind works. Also, I gotta say James Marsters (Spike) would have made my list a few years in a row, if I actually made that sort of list!

Once again, thanks for the reviews! Enid18: yup, Dean may be a whiney little kid when sick, but I don't think he'll ever be sick enough to let Sam get hurt. Sammy's3494girl, yup… I wanted some squish, and I think Sam would be a great big bro… Dean just never lets him be! Amberdreams: I think Dean can get out of any trap to help Sam. Plus, they're his cuffs, so I can't imagine he wouldn't know a little something about getting out of 'em. Also, the translations are for readers whose first language isn't English. I don't know how much of my readership that accounts for, but I'm thinking there are at least a few judging by the country breakdown of the hits on this story. And I'mma keep checking in for whatever fluffy stuff I gave you ideas for!

Farnathi: Thanks! Aside from the obvious exaggeration, that's what I was going for: something you could see them doing or saying. Thanks for expanding on ideas… keep an eye out for what they turn into! 88ivories: Thanks! Never get tired of hearing I'm awesome! Haha I watch entirely too much tv, I think. I follow a lot of awesome shows. None quite as awesome as Supernatural, though. I can't believe I didn't know about it until a couple months ago! Trust me when I say it ate my brain until I caught all the way up. Actually… it still eats my brain on a daily basis! Hahaha

Like many of you, if I believed in Santa, my letter would read something like this:

"Dear Santa,

Contrary to popular belief, I have been a very good girl this year, as you of course, know. Now, I know it would be a long shot because they're both in great shape, but if you can manage it, I have two ridiculously good-looking guys on my list. The spelling is P-a-d-a-l…" Heeeee.


	11. Return of the Sinpala

Return of the Sinpala

"What the hell is this crap?" Dean muttered, squinting looking vaguely upward towards the speakers. Somewhere in Bumf*ck Egypt, the Winchesters were looking for their next hunt, and stopping into a gas station for rations. The song had only started playing, but it was already pushing his thoughts to violence. Dean didn't know what it was, but to be honest, he'd prefer elevator music. "Sam, I can't take this music. Be a doll and get this for me."

Sam sighed in consternation and caught the mini donuts Dean tossed him and waited out the line.

Several minutes later, when Sam returned, he had a slightly glazed look to him and instead of just the mini-donuts, sandwich and coffees Sam had originally planned on buying, he came out carrying two bags worth of junk food and superfluous nick-knacks one can only find in gas stations way out in the middle of who-cares-about-your-tourist-attraction. As he got in the Impala, Dean stared at him with amusement.

"Eating for two, Sammy?"

"Wazzhuh?" Sam, well, to say responded would be generous.

"You okay?" Dean was concerned.

It was only a minute or two before Sam was back to being himself and wondering why he bought so much stuff, but it still worried Dean.

~*~

"Damn, not this crap again," Dean said it aloud, this time. "Does every gas station in America play this musical disaster?"

"Lemme guess… You want me to wait in line," Sam sighed. It was the fourth or fifth time Dean refused to stay in the store due to the girlish whine of pop music.

"You got it," Dean said passing off his junk food.

A few minutes later, and for the fourth or fifth time, Sam returned with way too much junk food and completely useless items. This time, as Dean stared at his brother with his patented what-the-hell face, he finally saw a pattern.

"Dude… you in there?"

Sam didn't respond, but he did drool a little bit.

By the time Sam was coherent again, Dean figured out that it was probably the music.

"Hey, what is that crap I keep walking out on?"

"Some band of teenaged brothers that all kind of look like girls. They were on E! the other night."

"Dude, E!? Who ARE you?"

Sam realized his mistake too late. "I was flipping…" he said lamely.

"Anything else I should know about them, Samantha?"

"That's about all I know. That, and they have a million pre-teen girls screaming for them."

"You one of them?"

Bitchface.

~*~

After more research, Sam and Dean found that since the release of the boy band's debut album, sales of junk food increased by five percent. While the media had picked up on the stock growth of junk food companies, no one found the link with Vaughn brothers and their high-pitched, contrived, sappy love ballads.

"So… these guys are trying to make pre-teens fatter? That doesn't really make much sense."

"Hey, look at this. They started using their CD in department stores last week, and sales started going up there, too," Sam was looking at stock trends.

"So, what? These guys, and I use that term loosely, are making people buy more stuff like zombies?"

"Looks like. Maybe subliminal messaging? We need to break the tracks down and find out what's going on behind the recordings."

Dean grinned, and patted Sam on the shoulder. "That's all you, tech-boy!"

Sam pouted, again realizing his mistake just too late.

~*~

"Okay, I've been over and over this… music," Sam said reluctantly, "again and again, backwards, upside-down and sideways, and I can't find any underlying messages to buy useless stuff. I think it might actually have something to do with the actual music. …and now I have a headache, by the way."

"That does it, the Deanquisition is including evil music now." The thought actually made Dean smile. Making the music world a better place, one over-paid pop star at a time…

"I hate to tell you this, Dean, but making people buy things they don't need doesn't necessarily qualify as evil."

"How's that head of yours?"

"Kinda feels like when I was having visions, actually."

"Evil music, Sammy. Besides, who wants to make America fatter?"

"See, I think you should have left that one alone, Dean. Now we have to go hear them in person. And who are you to talk? You ate all that junk I bought."

Dean instantly regretted suggesting pursuing it. He grimaced as Sam went about finding out what the backstage passes might look like so they could make some. Of all the things they'd faced, nothing put fear into Dean's heart like having to actually listen to bad music. The horror…

~*~

"If I walk out of here with a Vaughn brother's tee-shirt, you're a dead man."

"Hey, just remember, Cleveland means Rock and Roll hall of fame after."

Dean smiled, cheered a bit.

Sneaking around at a concert was actually one of the easiest things they'd ever been sneaky about. Dean's experience as a proficient PA transferred to "roadie" well, and Sam just followed his lead.

"Alright, we observe the concert and determine if the symptoms are from a live performance, too. If so, we take the music out of the picture. Got your earplugs?"

"Oh Sammy, there's no way in hell I'm actually going to listen to this crap."

~*~

As the hunters observed the concert, earplugs safely in place, they watch the crowd with wide-eyed horror. Thought the screaming pre-teen girls weren't enough, a few creeptastic mothers were worse.

Dean used a pen and paper to scribble to Sam: They look like little girls… why??

Sam shrugged as they observed the crowd grow more and more zombie-like, vacant stares, lethargic movements. Eventually, Sam motioned Dean to follow him. They walked away from the wings of the stage and got somewhere and waited to talk until the boy band was in between songs to talk.

"Alright, I think it's time to switch out their water… remember: we can't be caught, so act natural."

~*~

"I told you to ACT NATURAL!" Sam yelled over the din of the screaming angry mob of pre-teen girls (all covered in the boy band merchandise) as they ran for their lives.

"WHAT?" Dean yelled. "I HAVE BLOOD IN MY EARS, AGAIN!"

Sam would have frowned and shrugged if he hadn't been narrowly dodging the fastest of the screaming crowd. After all, his ears were butchered, too. Unfortunately, he was too distracted at the moment to do anything but wriggle free of the jacket a crazed mother had seized.

They rounded a sharp corner trying to get back to the car, but just when they least expected it, there it was again.

The Sinpala.

Right between them and the Impala. Revving its evil little engine menacingly.

Sam and Dean stopped dead. Sinpala before them, and angry mob behind them.

"Son. Of. A. BITCH."

A/n: Thanks for reading, everyone! And thanks for your continued support and suggestions! Sorry for a delay in new adventures, but I actually lifted the hiatus from my own original book, so that takes precedence. Hope everyone has had a good new year so far! I decided not to pick on any boy band specifically because there are so many, it was hard to choose, but you all know the type.

I know, I know, the Sinpala as a model car would not really have an engine… but it is evil and who knows what it has been up to since leaving? Stay tuned to find out! Also, I don't know how widely used this is, but Bumf*ck Egypt refers some out of the way place, usually the boonies. I think it was originally used by the military, actually, talking about where someone was stationed… Anyway, I like the term!

Thanks again!


	12. Dean gets drilled

This is for PlatinumRoseLady, upon request. Because this is by far, (and I think you should know I almost wrote fart XD) is the best unlikely (i.e. completely obvious) evil I should have thought of myself.

Dean gets drilled (or, Dean vs. the Dentist)

THEN:

"I told you to ACT NATURAL!" Sam yelled over the din of the screaming angry mob of pre-teen girls (all covered in the boy band merchandise) as they ran for their lives.

"WHAT?" Dean yelled. "I HAVE BLOOD IN MY EARS, AGAIN!"

They rounded a sharp corner trying to get back to the car, but just when they least expected it, there it was again.

The Sinpala.

Right between them and the Impala. Revving its evil little engine menacingly.

Sam and Dean stopped dead. Sinpala before them, and angry mob behind them.

"Son. Of. A. BITCH."

NOW:

The Sinpala revved up again, tires burning.

"DEAN?" Sam yelled waiting to follow his lead. The Sinpala, was, of course, a sensitive area for Dean. Unfortunately, with the sound of the crowd coming closer, they didn't have the luxury of time.

"I'M THINKING!" Dean snapped.

Just then, the Sinpala did something that no one saw coming. Tiny not-so-toy rocket launchers Transformer-styled themselves out the sides of the car, clicking into place.

"RUN!"

Sam and Dean exchanged crazed looks and took off running, zigzagging their way around the Sinpala, narrowly avoiding the tiny, yet deadly, missiles, long limbs flailing in a wild dance of avoidance.

And then something happened that hadn't happened to a healthy, sober Dean since he was eight years old.

Dean tripped. Not only did he trip, he practically face-planted, barely catching himself as his chin hit the asphalt.

"DEAN!"

Time slowed as the angry mob of pre-teen girls rounded the corner to meet the Sinpala, as Sam ran to Dean and helped him up. Not sure how to react to the mob, the Sinpala burned rubber and high-tailed it out of there.

Sam cursed as he hauled up a disoriented Dean. He knew Dean was really out of it when he actually agreed to hand over the keys.

~*~

Two Naproxen, some gauze, and several rounds of ice later, Dean was pissed.

"Dammit, Sam, how am I supposed to pick up chicks with this super-chipped front tooth?"

Sam held in a chuckle. It really wasn't funny… but now that they were far, far away from a screaming mob of adolescent girls... It was kind of funny.

Dean examined it again in the mirror, lifting up his front lip, like he was making a funny face. "I can handle a scar on the chin. Chicks dig scars… but the tooth? Dammit! How am I gonna score looking like that dude from 'The Hangover'?!"

"Who?"

Sam's famous lack of movie knowledge only earned a glowering look from Dean.

"Calm down, Dean. We have fake dental insurance, right? We'll just get it fixed."

"NO!" Dean said a little too quickly and loudly.

Sam looked at him strangely and not a little bit suspiciously. "Why not?"

Dean flashed an uncomfortable smile. "I, uh, I just don't like dentists, that's all." His laugh was definitely half-assed.

"Are you scared of going to the dentist, Dean?" Sam asked, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"I just don't like 'em, okay? They're evil!"

"Just think of the chicks, Dean…" Sam snickered.

"Fine," he snapped with a frown, "But we aren't going in unless I'm fully armed and have an escape plan."

Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't see what the big deal was. Besides, he needed his teeth cleaned anyway. Normal people went to the dentist every once in a while. But, hunters didn't do things like normal people. Especially when they were as paranoid as Dean was about to be…

~*~

Sam sighed. "I got it, Dean. We've been over the exit strategy five times. FIVE. And you're armed with every kind of evil-fighting weapon we have. You're going to scare the receptionist!"

"Hey, I am not letting some hack put me under unless I'm sure she's not evil! Let me try the panic button again."

Sam rolled his eyes and checked his phone as yet again, Dean pressed the panic button they'd rigged their phones to have. "Yes, it works. Still. Are you ready?"

Dean frowned. "Not even close." He cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, collecting himself. "Let's do this."

~*~

Sam flipped through the magazine in the waiting room, but it could have been upside-down and he wouldn't have noticed. Instead, he was dutifully paying attention to his phone, waiting for any indication that Dean was in trouble. Not that he expected any, but if experience taught him anything, it was that evil liked to lurk in the most innocuous of places. And even if a dentist's office wasn't the most innocuous place ever, they sure freaked Dean out, which had to count for something after all this time as a hunter.

Sam's ears strained to hear any suspicious sounds, but after about an hour (Sam had intentionally scheduled his appointment after Dean's was supposed to be done so that Dean would feel more secure) of nothing, Sam started to relax. Which is precisely when a loud crash came from the back and Sam's phone started going nuts.

To the receptionist's great horror, Sam pulled a gun, and leapt up, racing down the hallway to kick in the dentist's door. He was definitely not prepared for the sight that lay behind the door.

"HEEEEEE" Dean laughed, as Sam bust in.

The dentist was sprawled out, knocked out apparently, by the metallic tray Dean was still clutching. There was an odd, steady hissing sound in the room.

Dean… well, Dean was a sight. Grinning like a five-year old that just heard the best fart joke ever, Dean's dental-bib was ripped slightly and bloodied from the small stream coming out of his slightly-slack mouth. His phone was on the floor, along with his flask of salted holy water, his gun, and various other objects he'd armed himself with.

"Dean, what the hell just happened?" Sam was very worried that Dean's paranoia had gotten the better of him.

Dean giggled, which was needless to say, was very un-Dean-like, and dropped the tray with a clatter.

"Are you HIGH?" Sam asked, lowering the gun, praying the cops weren't already on their way.

"Juuuuuusssss a lil' bit," he giggled again, making a pinching gesture. Sam was relieved to see that his tooth had indeed been fixed.

"What the hell? Why is the dentist out cold?" Sam asked slowly approaching his nitrous-high brother, hoping not to startle him.

"Weeeeeeell, Ssssshammy, the dentist was evil." He poked at the air, but he wasn't actually pointing at Sam, just the blank wall.

"Evil how?" Sam inched closer.

"'ssss a demon. Seeeee?" Dean giggled, wobbled over to pick up his flask, and dropped some holy water on the KO'd dentist. Much to Sam's surprise, the holy water did make the dentist's skin hiss. Dean clapped like a little girl in glee.

"Whoa. How'd you figure that out?" Sam inched closer, listening for sirens he was sure he'd be hearing soon, but couldn't help but laugh at Dean's little high, happy-dance.

"I wasssss lookin' up at that creepy-asssssssssssssss picture of the babies in costumes," he pointed to the Anne Geddes picture on the ceiling, "…and she said I needed to have a cavity filled. She got the drill out and then-" his voice dropped to the kind of loud whisper drunks use, "-her eyes went all bl-" Dean didn't finish because he erupted in giggles that wouldn't subside.

Sam had the sudden urge to giggle, too. Which was when he realized, far too late, that the hissing sound was nitrous gradually being let out into the room, leaking from the fight that had just occurred.

"We… gotta… get… outta heeeeere!" Sam laughed it out, still lucid enough to grab weapons, and grab a giggling Dean by the wrist.

"I have a secret for ya, Shammy…" Dean said as Sam dragged him laughing, out the quickest escape route.

"What's that," Sam snickered, trying to clear his head.

"You're freakin' taaaaall!" Dean whispered, and burst out laughing as Sam dragged him out the door. "I mean… dude, serrrrriously, I bet that comes in haaaaandy when…" Sam shut him up with a wad of gauze he'd stolen, just in case. The look in Dean's eye promised that no matter how high, Sam did not want him to finish that sentence.

~*~

One state over, when both brothers were completely done giggling and Dean had thoroughly examined his newly fixed tooth, Dean demanded his position as driver back.

"How's the tooth," Sam asked. "Chick ready?"

"Thankfully fixed. It's weird that it fixed my tooth before trying to kill me. At least now I don't ever have to see one of those evil summabitches again."

"So, let me ask you… how in the hell did you fight off a demon, giggling?"

"I SO did not giggle." Dean brought out his version of the bitchface and pointed menacingly at his brother.

Sam stuck up his hands. "Okay, okay! So, how did you fight her off laughing?"

"Well, kind of hit her with the nitrous tank, first. It cracked open on her face. I'd feel bad, but she was trying to stab me with that stupid little scrapper. I wasn't laughing until after that."

"I thought you hit it with the tray?"

"I was, uh," Dean said embarrassed at his high actions, "examining the new tooth."

Sam laughed. "You know, I think I would have paid to see all that…"

Dean frowned, a sudden thought occurring to him. "You know, we probably should have exorcized that demon…"

Sam stopped laughing. "Holy crap."

"This is your hunt. This is your hunt on drugs!" Dean laughed.

~*~

"Dean?"

"Mm?"

"We gonna talk about this or not?"

"I'd rather not…" He kept his eyes on the road.

Sam decided he didn't care. "How the HELL did the Sinpala get tiny rocket launchers?"

Dean frowned. "No freaking idea."

"You think it's going to come back for us?"

Dean sighed heavily. "I think we have to prepare for just that. And I think I might know what I have to do…"

~*~

Disclaimer: No Deans (or Ackles) were harmed in the filming of this fic. I wouldn't dare mar that perfect beauty, 1, and 2… I fear rabid fangirls hellbent on destruction. But I suppose that's apparent from the last chapter.

A/n: The high, bloody-mouthed Dean is kind of inspired by the very end of the gag reel from season 1, where Jensen is grinning with blood on his chin. Or the scene from the season 2 gag reel, also where he's grinning with blood all down his face. I mean, seriously, there is nothing they can do to make that man unattractive…

Also, I wish you could all see this like I see it in my head. 'Cause nitrous high Winchesters makes me fall over laughing…

Thanks for reading, everyone!!!


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